


Wake Up with the King

by peachsock



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26315800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsock/pseuds/peachsock
Summary: In the briefest of moments, he considers stopping, but how else can he confirm how mind-blowingly amazing he is in bed?
Relationships: Jean-Jacques Leroy/Jean-Jacques Leroy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12
Collections: Wrecks of Ships





	Wake Up with the King

J.J.'s body aches, heavy with the burn of a hard practice session, the hot shower he'd taken does little to soothe the fatigue. But he knows that in pursuit of victory, of the greatness everyone expects of him as the King, these are the sacrifices that he must make. It will all be worth it, in the end, but now he must rest. He doesn't even bother putting anything on for bed, allowing the hotel room sheets to envelop him like a delicious French-Canadian crêpe.

When sleep finally claims him, he dreams of a gold medal around his neck, of his adoring fans, cheering and yelling in the stands. Isabella approaches him with a warm smile, and a hand immediately down his spandex, grabbing his Capital J with bold, deliberate strokes guaranteed to increase its font size. 

_ Sweet Celine Dion! _ Though his darling Isabella loves him more than anyone else in the whole wide world, she would never be this bold. And yet, the onslaught continues: Persistent fingers, somehow already slicked with lube, plunge into his opening fast enough to make his breath catch in his throat. Then he's stretched, spread wide with an aggressiveness Isabella would be too reverent to have. The crowd seems to melt away, until there is only him, and these hands that manage to make him shudder.

Ah, but whose hands could these be? He hadn't told anyone that he wanted something like this. Why would he? He's supposed to be the one standing at the top, not topped by others. But when the feeling gets his heart pounding as much as a great skate, when it feels just as good as a gold medal around his neck, how can he stop?

If he didn't know any better, he would say, the only individual in the world who could make him feel like this, who would understand his deepest, most secret wishes to be touched in his deepest, most secret place, and the ways to reduce his knees to jell-o, would be himself.

He cracks an eye open, and he catches sight of twin gray-blue orbs, that sparkle like the lights on clean ice. The eyes of a king. His gaze travels along the line of his perfectly chiseled chin, the tuft of hair that's oh-so-sexy when tousled just so. Of course, this had to be the answer. Who else could make this happen for him but him? Who else could make the impossible possible, except for him? In the briefest of moments, he considers stopping, but how else can he confirm how mind-blowingly amazing he is in bed?

"Considering the title of this fanfic, I was worried that I'd see the Burger King mascot,” J.J. whispers, both relieved to be wrong and breathless at his own handsomeness. Looking at his double is almost like staring into a mirror, but with less glass and a whole other living, breathing version of himself. 

The other J.J.’s answer is to give him an award-winning smile, brilliant pearly teeth that shine even in the dim light of the hotel room, "Why would I give me any reason to worry? I'm not that king, and even though this slogan has been dead for six years, you can still have it your way, if you know what I mean."

J.J. shakes his head, chuckling to himself, and at himself, "Of course I do, because you're me, but you've got one thing wrong..."

He'd always wondered what confusion would look like on his face. The sight is foreign, yet endearing. His eyebrows dip in concern as he asks: "How could I have gotten something wrong, when it comes to you?"

J.J. answers by drawing himself closer, whispering in his ear the way he knows he likes, "It's not my way, it's our way."

With that, he lets himself get carried away by himself. Their tongues tangle, swirling and twisting in and around each other with the practiced ease of pairs skaters on the ice; perfectly in sync and complementary. He allows himself to be turned onto his back, tingling with the same anticipation he feels right before getting onto the ice. He can feel his temperature rising; a comforting warmth from the inside out, like the first sip of Tim Ho's coffee on a subzero winter's day. 

J.J. presses fervent and fevered kisses to his neck, then his chest, nibbling playfully at his nipples as if they were timbits. It truly feels as though he's being given the royal treatment (which would have also been a great title for this fanfic, except the author was extremely committed to the Burger King joke, despite the fact their chicken nuggets are completely inferior to McDonald's). The kissing shifts further downward, with attention brought back to Capital J.

It only makes sense that J.J. would tackle even fellatio with the same absence of hesitation that has helped him forge his path in life, taking him into the moist heat of his mouth with confidence. He pulls back with a soft pop, licking him from base to tip, savoring every centimeter of him like a piece of maple candy. 

"I've never had a J.J. B.J. before..." he admits, with a breathy moan. The attention lavished on his man meat is enough to make his monarch mind melt. He can't remember ever being this hard before, burning hot and hungry, growing hungrier still when the fingers are back to stretch him open. Lubed up and wanting, he's prepared for the entrance of the King.

Without further fanfare, his legs are hoisted up, knees shoved towards his head until he's bent over himself like a contortionist from Cirque du Soleil. Every bit of air in his lungs rushes out when he's penetrated balls deep, and he gasps, tense around him.

"Are you ready for me to move, my king?," he hears himself ask, voice alluringly dripping sweetness like maple syrup to his ear.

The most he can manage is a breathless, " _ Oui. _ "

He gets a husky laugh in response: "Great. I'll make you ' _ oui, oui, oui  _ ' all the way home."

He's pounded into the mattress, each thrust a relentless attack on his body. 

" _ Oui, OUI,  _ **_OUI_ ** !," J.J. screams, sobbing and hysterical from the pleasure overload, "Cover me with your love gravy and make me into sex poutine, J.J. Style!"

Not one to refuse himself, the other J.J. pulls out, and presses their capital Js together for an amazing double J.J. J.O. They come in unison, and J.J. finds himself covered in steaming hot seed, just as he requested. Spent and sleepy, he mumbles to his other self," I love you, King."

"I love you too, King," the other J.J. replies, sinking peacefully into his embrace. And thus, both J.J.s slip into much-needed R.E.M.

**Author's Note:**

> I may have ruined poutine for myself in the course of writing this.


End file.
